Victory
by Lovelyruthie
Summary: The Duke & Duchess of Ankh have a wonderful son, young Sam. Then quite by surprise a visit from the stork gifted them a daughter, Victory. And this is what she did.
1. Chapter 1

Victory had been an accident. No, that would suggest she was unwanted and that was undoubtedly not the case. Victory was a happy accident, serendipity, a welcome surprise to the Duke and Duchess of Ankh. Both had suspected they were too long in the tooth for another child and young Sam was not as young any more either, but when the bundle of joy arrived the family felt complete.

Victory was certainly victorious in practically anything she turned her hand to; from flower arranging to fisticuffs. Unlike her big brother she revelled in mischief of thankfully a benevolent kind. For instance, aged four, she set off her Mother's dragons all at once because the hens in the admittedly far too nearby pens 'looked cold'. Yes, she had resolved that problem, but rather permanently. And it turned out it is possible to get tired of eating roast chicken after a week and a half.

Aged seven, Victory was sent to the headmaster's office for hitting a classmate. "It was self-defence, sir," Miss Vimes explained, "He said that girls weren't any good at fighting." "I see," the Headmaster pondered. "But how is that self-defence?" "I was defending my honour, sir. 'Cos I'm a girl and I'm a bloody good fighter!"

Aged twelve, Victory had a gang. This was not the sort of gang that went around causing destruction, quite the opposite. Victory Vimes was organised like her mother and persuasive like her Dad. Whilst her brother Sam was pursuing a quiet life of study and science, Victory wanted to fix things. Victory's girls cleaned up street corners, leafletted local businesses about how they could reduce their impact on the environment and campaigned for equal rights for…well, whichever species was their flavour of the month. Her enthusiasm to fight for what was right was not always welcomed by those she campaigned for but this didn't seem to matter too much to Victory.

Aged fifteen, she had changed from wiry do-gooder in pigtails to a wild-haired Demi-goddess of fury. Vetinari had decided to do away with the right to demonstrate in Sator Square after an incident the Times referred to as the Soap Box Debacle. Those there had sustained severe splinter injuries and one unfortunate man was still at the Lady Sybil Free Hospital getting these removed from some very delicate areas. Free speech turned into a free for all and the Patrician had made his thoughts on the matter very clear. "If they can't play nicely, then I shall take away their toys."

"Look, Dad I wouldn't normally ask for special treatment but someone's got to make Vetinari see sense! He's doing away with…with tradition! With the right to talk freely with our fellow beings on the matters that really matter!"

Sir Samuel Vimes loved his daughter, he truly did, but she had this habit of talking in exclamation points. You could actually hear them. With young Sam it had been easy, a bed-time story of 'Where's my cow?' and he was happy as Larry.* As an older child his surprisingly healthy obsession with poo kept him happy as a pig in…well, anyway it seemed Victory was only truly happy when railing against some cause or another. He couldn't for the life of him figure out where she'd picked that up from.***

 _*Larry Fellabonty the one-time Reds** singer and ever cheerful. His 'My baby done left me a Pie and got me flowers too' remains a classic._

 _**As opposed to the blues_

 _***His wife could but wasn't about to in his presence_

"DAD! Are you even listening?!"

"Victory, try listening to your ol' Dad," he replied as calmly as he could, "I understand how," he paused trying to think of the best words and rejected 'completely bloody obsessed'. " _Passionate_ you get about these things but do you have to make it your mission to change the world on a daily basis?" They were at the breakfast table and he clung to his coffee as if it were a life-line.

"Well, someone has to Dad. And why not me? After all, we have regicide in our blood!"

"First of all dearest," Sam continued to calmly respond, underneath however the exasperation seethed, "that is not something to be proud of. Secondly, the Patrician isn't a king and thirdly he's your brother's Godfather. We might not always agree with him, Gods only knows I don't, but he keeps the status quo."

"Do you know what he does to mime artists? Do you know about the…the… _kittens_?" She said this last in the hushed tones of horror. "Where will it end? He has to be stopped!"

Sybil walked in with a tray of burnt bits which might have once been egg, bacon and beans. "Who has to be stopped Victory, dear?" She placed the burnt offerings in front of Sam and their daughter. The latter rolled her eyes, "I told you Mum, I don't eat anything that has a face!"

Sybil answered tersely, "There are no faces on that plate. I have checked. Eat up, there's a good girl."

Begrudgingly Victory did as she was told. There was something in her Mother's tone that meant she could never truly rebel against her. Besides, she really did love bacon as much as she felt she shouldn't. As she crunched through it her Father explained.

"Victory wants to stop our Patrician, Sybil. She seeks an audience with him, through me."

"I see." Sybil sat down and buttered some very well done toast. "Well, arrange it then!"

"What?" His brows knitted so hard they could have churned out a scarf.

"Yeah, Mum! Stick it to the man!"

"Don't talk about your father like that," Sybil scolded, watching for Sam's response.

"No," he answered realising he now had both the ladies in his life glaring. "Because…" Sybil raised a brow and watched her husband come to his own conclusion. Being married, being properly married, often lent a level of psychic ability between partners. What if Victory did speak to Vetinari? He probably wouldn't execute her, in fact he'd likely find the whole thing highly amusing and teach his wayward daughter a lesson or three. His expression did not betray his line of thinking however and he continued, "Because, I am your Father and you should respect my wishes!"

Sybil sipped her tea to avoid giving away her smirk. The reverse psychology was so obvious it had eyes in the back of its head.

"Listen Dad!" Victory gestured with her fork. "If you don't get me in to see Vetinari then I'll bloody break my way into the Oblong Office!"

"Language!" Sybil scolded.

"Sorry Mum," she muttered apologetically, then to her Dad, "But I blimmin' will!"

Sam huffed and for the next ten minutes they ate their breakfast in silence. Finally, after crumping through the last of the beans, "Alright, but only ten minutes. And make yourself presentable."

There was triumph in Victory's eyes, "Seriously Dad, ten minutes is all I need!" She dashed away from the breakfast table leaving her parents to share a world-weary laugh.

"She's _your_ daughter." Sam insisted. He saw the same look of triumph in his wife's eyes and smiled


	2. Chapter 2

"Endless peace, a headless city follows a fall. How lucky!" Lord Havelock Vetinari cast his eyes heavenward. "You know Drumknott, if I didn't know any better I'd be inclined to think our 'Puzzler' is trying to make a point."

Drumknott gave a sage nod, as the Patrician neatly filled in the crossword clue in copperplate script. "Would you mind making an extra trip to Pelicool Steps today? Pick up some more dog biscuits for Tinker, perhaps?" He absently scruffled the pampered pooch behind the ears. Tinker made a breathy wuff and his Master gave him a treat.

There was a knocking at the door. Vetinari wasn't expecting anyone but there again he was always expecting someone. "See who it is would you, Drumknott?" He laid down his pen and continued to quietly fuss his little dog all the while keeping a steady gaze fixed upon the door.

"Lord Samuel Vimes and his daughter, Victory," Drumknott announced, ushering them in.

The Patrician raised a brow a mere millimetre, "An unexpected pleasure Vimes…and daughter." He afforded them both a smile which did not quite meet his eyes. "Is it not the usual state of affairs that I _summon_ you?"

"Sometimes it does you good to break with tradition," Vimes answered. "But tradition is why we're here."

"Oh?" Vetinari looked at the young lady who, now she was in the Oblong Office, had already lost much of her bravado. Vimes Sr nudged Vimes Jr with an elbow and she almost jumped out of her skin.

"Um…uh…Sator Square," she began. "You need to reinstate the freedom." She swallowed. "The freedom of speech I mean. Now, actually."

"Do I now?" The Patrician exchanged a look with her Father, then, "Leave us please if you will, Lord Vimes. I see we will need a private audience to discuss this important business." He addressed Drumknott, "I believe Tinker requires his daily walkies?" Drumknott obliged, picking up the fluffy object. Walkies consisted of Drumknott taking a walk whilst carrying the thoroughly spoilt dog.

They both made to leave, Victory turned to her Father, "Uh, Dad?"

"Yes dearest?" he answered sweetly.

"I'll see you later, yeah?"

Vimes glanced at the Patrician then back at his little girl. "You probably will." And he left.

-

Well, she'd got what she'd asked for and was suddenly reminded of how you had to be careful with that. "You have a dog," she said, falling to defensive small talk as the tirade she'd been practising in her head for days had evaporated totally.

"Does that surprise you, Victory?" He steepled his fingers and looked the girl in the eye, reading her like a book. He saw Sam, he saw Lady Sybil and even a little of his Godson. "How is your brother? I hear he's taking a 'gap year' in Howondaland?"

"He had enough of the crap here and decided to try the crap somewhere else," Victory said with a little more cheek than she'd planned to.

"Yes, quite. One does have to admire his passion. Yours too. Please, _do_ take a seat." Victory sat. Vetinari's tone had that something her Mother's did. "Tell me, what is it about the freedom of speech that has you so troubled?"

"It's our basic human rights! I mean of all species," she quickly corrected, "I speak therefore I am listened to. We are all equals."

"I believe the phrase is I think therefore I am. The power of speech renders one no guarantee of being heard, and," he paused for effect, "Some of us are more equal than others."

"Well, that's just wrong!" Victory countered.

"Have you heard some of the free speech at Sator Square? Do you know what started the 'Soap Box Debacle'?" Vetinari knew. He made it a habit to know everything that went on in his city.

Victory however, had not been there and reports differed wildly depending on who you spoke to. Even the Times had not managed to pin down the exact trigger of it all. "Well…" Victory nervously ran a hand through her dark blonde hair. "It's not about what was said, its about the fact that no-one can say it any more. People don't always say or do the right thing, Patrician, but if you take the right of free speech away you take away the chance for them to learn. Or for people to make decisions for themselves."

"In my experience it's not always wise to allow people to make decisions for themselves. You'd be amazed at the notions the man on the street has."

"What about the woman on the street? Or the Orc? Or the vampire? Or the troll? Or the Dwarf under it?" She sighed. "People got hurt but isn't that enough of a lesson?"

"Do you know what my job is Miss Vimes? What I am for?"

Victory considered this, "Dad says to maintain the status quo."

"But what do _you_ think it is?"

"I think you just do whatever you like." There. She'd said it. An image of kittens crossed her mind and she bit her lip.

The Patrician laughed. A mirthful laugh that went on just long enough to make Victory uncomfortable. "You might want to consider that they might be one and the same thing." He leaned back in his seat. "I can't just reinstate the soap boxes at the Square. It is important that one be consistent is it not? But perhaps the 'people' could earn the right back?"

Victory frowned, "I don't understand…"

"Well young lady, let me explain…"

-

Five minutes later Victory Vimes left the Oblong Office in not only one piece, but with a mission and this time it had Palace approval.


	3. Chapter 3

The bandstand at the centre of Apothecary Gardens was certainly impressive not only in its design but also its scale. Another classic BS Johnson creation, it had originally been intended as the top tier of a wedding cake but due to the inevitable errors in units of measurement, inches became yards. It had become the regular meeting place for Victory's girls and they sat chatting, occasionally giving the structure a lick*

 _*The Royal icing was virtually indestructible but still rather tasty_

"Ooh, I'd love to see the look on Vetinari's face when Victory tells him what's what!" exclaimed Millie Pockle, a tiny bundle of freckles with a shock of red hair and total faith in their leader.

The other girls nodded except Amma who appeared to be deep in thought. Often this was due to her taking a little time to catch up with her peers but this time it was original thought that was slowing the purple-tinged troll down. "Wot if…" she rumbled, "Wot if…?"

"What if what?" Millie asked, not unkindly.

"Cool her down!" Ethel Washcart suggested, jumping up and using some leaflets demanding equality for gnolls as a makeshift fan. The rest of them followed suit, wafting a breeze across their friend's noggin to get the proverbial cogs moving.

"Wot if he make an ex…" her features rumpled in concentration, amethyst crystals catching the light momentarily, "arm pull…"

"You heard her! Pull her arm!" Ethel's enthusiasm for taking action often surpassed her capacity for thinking first.

"No, no," Millie waved the girls off, "An example?" she asked Amma, "If he makes an example of her?"

The troll nodded slowly, "Yer."

"Zen she vould be a martyr to zer cause," Gothika Charm muttered darkly. Gothika claimed she was a vampire from the forests of Uberwald but they all knew her real name was Gertie Smith and her Dad was a fishmonger on Pearl Dock.

There were gasps and a few squeals of panic, "He wouldn't do that to the daughter of the head of the City Watch, surely?!" Ethel had panic in her eyes.

"Wouldn't do what?" Victory stood grinning by the bandstand before being half-hugged to death by her comrades.

"What happened? What happened?! Did you give him the manifesto? Were there kittens? Was he as short as they say he is?" Millie desperately wished she had been there.

"What's his height go to do with it?" Victory frowned for a second then hugged back, waving the gang off to go sit down. "Listen, it didn't go how you'd think but actually, it went a whole lot better." Victory took in a deep breath to then announce, "We, as in the City, are going to have a debate!"

"Wot?!" Amma went back to confused. The girls all started chattering their lack of approval.

"Oi, oi, oi!" Victory stopped them, hands palm outward in supplication. "What's wrong with that? A debate is what we do best isn't it?"

"I suppose zis voz his idea, right?" Gothika gave her friend a wry expression.

"He _got_ to you!" hissed Celery Greenfood* who Victory swore was out to take her place as gang leader.

 _*Her family were quite literal. Her two brothers were named Broccoli and Cucumber_

"He didn't get to me. He just thinks he did." Victory tapped the side of her nose and smirked. Finally she properly had their attention, "The Patrician wants us to publicise a debate next week. He has noticed just how great we are at getting the word out there! Celery, Gothika I want you to design and print up the leaflets!" Both girls nodded.

"It's going to be here," Victory indicated the bandstand where they were sat. "Nice and open, no soap boxes and no splinters! Participants then get two minutes to say their piece on the subject they draw or two minutes to counter the previous argument. The winner goes through to the next round until…what?!" Victory glared at Celery who was pulling a face like a gargoyle chewing a toffee.

"How is that free speech? There's too many rules!" The skinny girl rolled her eyes, "I tole you I shoulda gone instead." She looked to the others who cast their eyes downward not wanting to get drawn into mutiny.

"How exactly were you going to manage that then, Celery? Planning on sneaking in with a salad?" The put-down was weak, at best, but it shut down the dissent for the moment. "Yes, there are rules because this is a game. It's always a game, right?"

"Is it?" Ethel asked, then when Millie nudged her, "Yes, yes it is!"

"What's the prize then?" Millie asked, "And can we win it?" The gang giggled at this.

"Oh, there's a prize alright, but it might involve breaking a rule or two."

"Can I do der breakin'?" Amma requested.

Victory brought them into a huddle and in whispers told them exactly how it was going to go. By the time they went their separate ways even Celery had a determined smile on her face.


	4. Chapter 4

That night at the tea table Vimes Sr asked Vimes Jr how it went with the Patrician. She smiled and answered saccharine, "Piece of cake, Dad." Then she took a gratifying bite from the not so metaphorical cake they were eating. Sir Samuel Vimes began to wonder if he had created a monster and if so, what was he going to have to get her out of next?

-

The following day they were at Celery's Dad printing press. The fact they got their flyers for free was one of the reasons Victory tolerated Celery at all. It was also why whilst Vetinari had laid it on a bit thick, there was some truth that Victory's girls were good at getting the word out there. One could not ignore entire forests worth of pamphlets.

As usual they paired up before going their separate ways to cover as much ground as possible and they planned to meet back at the bandstand at noon. Millie and Ethel, Gothika and Amma and Victory decided she would keep a close eye on Celery. Say one thing in her favour, Celery was great to have beside you; she was forceful, conniving and hard to ignore. Have her behind you however and she'd stab you in the back as a natural reflex. The flyers were eye-catching due to Gothika's artistic skills and Celery's way with words.

 _Next Saturday the 12th of Grune YOU are required to attend the MOST IMPORTANT EVENT of the YEAR!_

 _The BAND STAND DEBATE is your chance to demonstrate how to argue the matters that really matter. WORDS are POWER!_

 _The WINNER takes ALL! Fantastic prize to be won!_

 _Palace approved._

 _See overleaf for full rules._

Another reason Victory's girls did so well is that Victory was the daughter of the Duke of Ankh. Actually it was less to do with the fact her Father was a Duke and more that he was Commander Vimes, ol' Stony Face himself and that if anyone dared do anything untoward to his little girl they would regret it to the end of their days and beyond. Ironically, Victory had never grasped this and whilst she had recognised a certain invulnerability about herself, she didn't realise how she got away with doing what she did.

She had spent her pocket money on a carriage to the Shades and it was strange just how many leaflets they were able to give away when she introduced herself. The pair had to go back to the press to get more.

-

Amma and Gothika wandered to Gleam Street to inform the Times of the event. Amma did not have much of a way with words, but when a purple troll shoved a leaflet in your hand you took it and made sure that while she could still see you, you read it. Gothika was not so keen on the distribution part of campaigning. Leave her to design or create, but she preferred the shadows where there weren't any people.

Amma nudged Gothika in the ribs.* "Ain't that one o' yours?" She pointed with her thick-set outcrop of an arm towards the iconographer leaving the Times Offices.

 _*Even gently it felt as if she'd been thrown from a speeding cart_

Gothika flushed red under her pale make-up, "Sorry? Vot?" She pretended not to see. She was merely playing vampire and meeting an actual one was something she'd rather avoid. She wouldn't pass under the scrutiny of the real thing.

"Look! He dere!" she rumbled loudly. "MR OTTO! WE HAS A SCOOP FOR YOUSE!"

Gothika shrank into her midnight black dress as Otto Chriek, who couldn't fail to notice a story when it was yelling at him across the street, came over to them.

"Vell, hello zere…ladies," the pause was momentary, his smile stayed in place. "Vot is all zis zen?" He took a flyer from Gothika who would not look him in the eye. "A debate! How excitink! And it has been such a qviet news veek. I zhought ve vould haff to be running zer amuzink vegetables on zer front page at zis rate." He laughed at his own joke, the girls didn't. "Ahem, vell zank you for zis and," he addressed Gothika, "Live not in vein."

With that he dashed back into the offices. "Nice man," Amma said in gravelly tones. Gothika blinked, then stood a little taller. The next person that passed by had a flyer pressed in their hand, "You _vill_ attend," the girl insisted with a toothsome grin and they worriedly nodded their agreement, before hurrying away.


	5. Chapter 5

Noon came round and back at the bandstand Millie and Ethel were recounting their morning although Victory was less than impressed when she found out they'd visited Pseudopolis Yard.

"Well, what's the problem with that?" asked Ethel, genuinely confused at the reaction.

"The last thing we need is the Watch involved. I'd rather keep my Dad out of it?" She dreaded the idea of her Father stepping in to break it up, especially given what they had planned.

"Oh, they'd've found out eventually, Vee," Millie reasoned. "Besides we didn't see your Dad, we saw that lovely Captain Carrot." Her freckled face flushed pink and a soppy smile appeared.

Ethel giggled, "He can arrest me any time!"

Victory rolled her eyes, "Like any of us have got time for chasing boys when there's a cause to fight."

"He's definitely not a boy," Millie nudged Ethel and they both giggled again.

"No, he's a man," Gothika retorted. "And a slave to zer patriarchal society zat keeps us chained."

"But dey not all bad," Amma offered. "Dere a nice troll boy, Chalky, dat did done ask me out. I gonna go. He try anyfing funny, I smash him good and proper." The others were surprised by both the revelation and the length of Amma's speech, anything past a single sentence was like an hour long soliloquy.

"Hold on." Victory frowned. "I thought we agreed if anyone got a boyfriend we'd tell each other first!"

"I telling you now!"

Celery was uncharacteristically quiet. This may have been down to the fact she'd been seeing a lad for the last six weeks. He had no idea about her involvement with Victory's girls and thought she was prim, proper and demure. She was none of these things and she was beginning to realise that with the high-profile of the debate, she was going to get found out. The thought of losing Glodfrey didn't bear thinking about.

"Why've we got to tell if we've got a boyfriend?" she blurted out crossly, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"They're a distraction, Celery. They take our mind off the fight, the cause, the reason we're here, doing all this!" Victory practically growled. "We all agreed this when we started the gang!"

"We were twelve!" Celery spat back. " _You_ can be a Nun if you like but I'm not going to!"

This sort of discussion happened frequently and all the more so now they were in their late teens. Victory's girls were forever making up and breaking up so it was no surprise that Celery stormed off in a huff and Victory yelled after, "Fine! See if I care!"

"So, vhere are ve goink to get zer flyers from now eh?" Gothika pointed out unhelpfully.

"Oh bugger off!" Victory snapped. Then to the rest of them, "Go on, all of you, bugger off!"

The girls knew when a major wobbly had been thrown and as usual it had come out of nowhere. They left her to it, sat on the bandstand with a face like thunder. Like all storms it would pass, but they all knew when best to take cover.

Later that afternoon Victory sloped into the drawing room and found her Mother flower arranging. It was not Sybil's forte, she did better with actual dragons than snapdragons and so silently Victory began fixing her Mum's mistakes, her face a combination of frustrated and defeated. It was an expression Sybil had seen a few times before on another face. After a few minutes she asked, "Fancy talking about it then?"

Victory took in a deep breath. "Why is it that nobody understands me? Nobody bloody listens and when you're trying to make it easier for them, better really all they just do is their own blimmin' thing! And now they're getting _boyfriends_ and then they'll forget about _me_ because they'll be too busy going on dates and getting _married_ and being _good little wives_! There's so much out there that's more important Mum and they'd just prefer to give it all up for boys." The rose she jabbed into the vase amongst the other flowers snapped. "Bugger!"

"Oh Victory." Her Mum decided to avoid correcting the language under the circumstances. "I'm sure it'll all blow over. But you know it's possible to be a wife _and_ to make a difference." She knew she certainly did. "I'm sure your Father would prefer you didn't date anyone until you're forty but you can have both, dear."

"Dad doesn't need to worry." She pulled out the rose and a little more calmly added a lily. "All boys are idiots. I have absolutely no interest in them other than being better than them at everything."

Sybil laughed, _with_ her daughter, not at her. "Darling, of course boys are idiots, men too, but they have their good points. Your Father is a good man. Your Grandfather, oh  & your _Great_ Grandfather if you'd met them, you would have loved them. And your brother is no idiot!"

"He's poo obsessed," Victory muttered, then sighed. "When's he coming home, Mum?" She missed him terribly. While Victory had a habit of tormenting Sam they would also chat together for hours about anything and everything. He really listened to her and some of what interested him so deeply was interesting to her too. They were both passionate people in their own ways.

"Another month dear. There's a letter for you in the Hall." Sybil smiled as Victory immediately dropped the flowers and dashed off to collect it with a "Thanks, Mum!" hollered from the stairwell.


	6. Chapter 6

Victory practically tore open the envelope so that her brother's letter nearly flew out of her hands. She plonked down on a nearby armchair, tucked her feet under her and began to read.

 _"Dear V,_

 _There is always something new to come out of Howandaland and this time I'm pleased to say it's something particularly lovely. Or rather, someone."_

"Oh no, Sam, not you too!" What was it with the need to pair off?

 _"I have been lucky enough to be staying with the Jones family whilst following and observing several herds of elephants and bewildebeest. Mr and Mrs Jones have been hosting safaris for many years and their daughter, Fabunni, is extremely knowledgable on the interactions of the two species. She has taught me so much in the last few weeks."_

"Oh I'll just bet she has." Victory rolled her eyes.

 _"I have invited her to stay with us upon my return so that she can see first-hand the wildlife of Ankh-Morpork. Think it might be a bit of a shock!_

 _And I have never been so glad to have Dad's name. Did you know the trouble the Ramkin's caused out here? Not quite sure how I'll be able to keep that one from Fabunni and her family. Oh by the way, my ancestors decided you were all our mortal enemies and if they had their way would expect me to shoot you all on sight."_

Victory looked up at the portrait of her Great Grandfather, a blunderbuss in one hand, his other hand petting a small buck-toothed dragon. "Yeah, bet I'd have loved him." She thought back to her Mother's words.

 _"Fabunni and I are going to travel to Smithville in search of all things Balrog. As you know the poor unfortunate creatures were hunted to near extinction and I have a horrible feeling that the carpet in our great hall is a balrug. There are small pockets of survivors in the rougher plains and there is a mating programme we are both very interested in."_

Victory snorted.

 _"Also, I still have yet to find a sample of Balrog excreta for my collection so that's high on the agenda."_

"This Fabunni must be pretty tolerant," Victory remarked, turning the page.

 _"I hope all is well with you sis. Mum worries about you and all your campaigning, but you know, I think it's bloody terrific. We all need something to strive for, to believe in and to give us purpose. I think I might have found that in Fabunni. It's just wonderful being able to share one's passion with another._

 _Whatever it is you're up to right now you know I want to know all about it because I miss you, even if you are the most annoying sister I've ever had. Look forward to your letter,_

 _Love,_

 _Sam"_

Victory wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, sniffed and decided she'd head back to the bandstand. Maybe she'd been a bit hasty and just maybe, she needed some time with her mates.


	7. Chapter 7

Gothika was naturally suspicious. It was a trait her Mother had taught her well and after Celery's slanging match she just knew the girl was up to something. So, sticking to the shadows, she followed her. As she suspected, Celery wasn't going home. In fact, she was intrigued to find she took a rather circuitous route to Scoone Avenue. To live in this particular street on Ankh-Morpork one had to be in money, one had to have credentials and one had to refer to oneself as one. Gothika felt out of place and at odds with the world at the best of times, but here she felt it even more strongly.

Celery stood outside a rather grand house. She put something around her neck, awkwardly. Was that a string of pearls? She pulled a pale pink cardigan out of her bag and put this on, adjusted her skirt hem downward then hurriedly began pinching her cheeks. As Gothika looked on she spotted a gangly toffee-nosed boy heading down the path towards her friend who immediately took on a shy and demure pose. This was not the spiky, brash and downright aggressive Celery she knew.

She couldn't hear what they were saying, unfortunately not having the heightened senses of a real vampire was a bit of a drag, but she did hear the pretty trilling giggle that Celery trotted out. It made her feel physically sick. When the Celery she knew laughed, at something actually funny, she honked and brayed like a donkey.

Slinking back out of Scoone Avenue she decided she was going to have to do something about this.

Victory had dropped by Mr Greenfood's printing shop on the way to the bandstand to find Celery wasn't there. However, he did allow her to put through another run of the debate flyers. As long as his company details were in a large font he didn't mind at all. She half-heartedly distributed some of them on her way, the wind temporarily out of her sails. Amma was already waiting in the park because she wasn't as stupid as people assumed. She knew the drill, friends fight, friends go off in huff, friends meet couple of hours later and say sorry by pretending nothing happened.

With Amma by her side Victory felt a lot better and they gave out leaflets, as one by one Victory's girls returned and joined in with haranguing the general public who had just wanted a nice quiet walk through the gardens.

The last to arrive was Celery Greenfood, who Gothika noted had ditched the pastel knitwear and rolled her skirt back up above her knees. For a few minutes the campaigning continued smoothly before Gothika could stand it no longer.

"Zhere is a traitor amonk us!" she announced dramatically.

"A po'tater?" Amma asked, wondering what vegetables had to do with it.  
"A traitor!" the pale girl repeated, rounding on Celery. "She's got herself a posh boyfriend and she is all pretendink to be some simperink idiot!"

Victory and the others were frowning at the confusing revelation but Celery stood tall.

"Pretending I'm something I'm not, am I?" there was a self-conscious, humourless laugh. "Well, you'd know all about that wouldn't you Gertie?"

"Gothika," she corrected in a less confident tone.

"Gertie Smith, daughter of Georgie Smith, fishmonger! You've never been to Uberwald and the only blood you've been near is off your Dad's apron!" There was a horrible look of triumph on the skinny girl's face. "Having a boyfriend doesn't make me a traitor, Gertie. It just makes me human, like what you are!"

Gothika was trembling and Victory stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder, but she was waved away. "Zat's right. You are right, Celery. I am human. I'm just playink at beink somevun I am not." Tears began to run through her white make-up and her eye-liner joined it. "But who vants to be Gertie Smith? Who wants to live in a house zat stinks of fish? Who vants to be zer mousey little freckle-face swot? My Mum ran avay to Klatch viz a sailor just to get avay from me! Zer only vay I can get avay from beink me is to be somevun else. But at least zer pretendink is for myself, not so I can get some stupid boy to like me!"

"Glodfrey's not stupid! He's in the Assassin's guild!"  
"They're all murderers," Millie practically hissed in horror.

"He has prospects," Celery was fired up now. "And presence. He's dashing and gallant."

"He is zer personification of all zat is oppression against vimmin!"

At this point all the girls began to pitch into the argument and passersby were making themselves scarce. Until finally there was a bellow of,

"ENOUGH!" Victory stood between her two friends and with a steely expression, quietly followed with, "It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter…" it still bothered her but, "it doesn't matter if you have a boyfriend, just as long as you don't give up what we care about. We've got a real opportunity to stick two fingers up to the powers that be. If we put all our effort in bitching amongst ourselves, then we lose out."

Elsie passed a tissue to Gothika who gratefully took it.

"Could we have a truce, do you think?" Victory stepped back expectantly. Hesitantly Gothika put out a pale hand, but Celery turned on her heel and without a word, walked off.

"Well dat coulda gone better," Amma placed a heavy arm around her sniffling


	8. Chapter 8

Vetinari tutted as he filled in the first two clues of the latest Times crossword. "You did pick up those biscuits for Tinker didn't you, Drumknott?"

Drumknott nodded.

"I do wonder what sort of impact you had." The words APOLOGISE and NEVER ran across the top row in terribly neat and mocking letters. Changing the subject, "I hear our young ladies are putting out the word?"

"Oh yes, I found one of these whilst taking Tinker on his daily walk, sir." He placed a slightly wrinkled and dog chewed flyer on the desk which the Patrician inspected with a critical eye.

"Better than I expected. I have high hopes and I rather anticipate there will be high jinks. As the young folk say, 'Bring it on!'" Tinker yipped in agreement.

)))

Two days went by before Victory's girls met again and they were feeling far from victorious. Mr Greenfood had regretfully informed Maisie that he could no longer provide them flyers by order of his daughter.

The clement weather of spring break had broken and the girls were huddled under the ornate bandstand to keep out of the rain, bar Gothika who was late. Eventually Ethel spotted her approaching, looking like a drowned rat. That wasn't all that was different about her. The white make-up was gone and despite being soaked through, as Victory ushered her under the canopy, they saw their friend sported a broad grin.

"Where is Gothika and what you dun to her?" Amma demanded, but unable to keep her own face from breaking into a grin.

"What is it?" Victory asked, but again just a smile was the response.

"Oh, maybe her mind has gone?" Ethel suggested sadly. "That Celery has got a lot to make up for!"

"I am perfectly within my right mind thank you," Gothika finally answered. "And we don't need Celery. She wasn't good for us."

Victory noted the distinct lack of Uberwaldean accent along with the make-up change. "Should we be calling you Gertie, now?"

"If you like. Or genius…has anyone got a towel?" They didn't, funnily enough, so she shook her wet locks like a dog and the other girls shrieked, trying to stay dry. She turned to Victory and explained, "We don't have any more flyers but there are other ways to get the word out there. Street presence. We do something that gets people listening and watching."

"Like what?" Victory was beginning to worry for Gertie's sanity.

Putting down her bag, Gertie asked Amma to step forward, then pulling out a battered tin of paint she jemmied the lid then drew a line with a horsehair brush straight across her troll friend's nose. Then just as quickly, daubed a V with a circle around it on Amma's chest. It was a bold symbol. She stepped back, dropping the brush into the tin. "War Paint! Vee for Victory!"

Sam Vimes' daughter cocked her head to one side, then nodded approval. "What about the rest of us?"

The once-vampire retrieved something else from her bag, barely concealed glee in her eyes, "I thought you'd never ask!"


	9. Chapter 9

_CRASH MOB FREES SPEECH AND PIGEONS ON SATOR SQUARE_

 _The Times were astonished to witness the antics of a group of determined young ladies bedecked in war paint earlier today. The five girls had a serious message, that of the contentious issue of Free Speech in the city's main square. Since 'The Soap Box Debacle' was first reported here in this very newspaper, the Patrician declared a ban on the right to speechify on one's subject of choice._

 _This Saturday at noon, the Band Stand Debate is set to take place in Apothecary Gardens and rumour has it, it may lead to the reinstatement of soapboxes in the city. Speculation also suggests it may however lead to a suspension of speech altogether for some people._

 _Well, we certainly would agree that if nothing else the girls, sporting great white 'V's in paint on their fronts and backs made an impact. One of them was heard to remark that the "V is for Victory! Victory against oppression! White is for peaceful protest!" They then went about releasing several baskets of pigeons, each sporting a message tied to their leg advertising the aforementioned debate._

 _Very unfortunately the message of peace was spread far and wide but not in the way the ladies were planning. An unseasonable storm caused a bolt of lightning to strike just as the birds were released sending a shower of feathers and other less palatable remnants down on those in the square. In the confusion a troll fell into one of the fountains causing a great deal of damage. Thankfully, this went some way to help wash away the unpleasant residue from the dismembered messenger pigeons but at the time of writing, water is still gushing from the ruptured pipe. This has led to some localised games of poo sticks suggesting that the sewer pipes have also been affected._

 _The story of the crash mob has been doing the rounds on the clacks. In fact, the following has gone round so many times it's said to have 'gone spiral':_

 _Q. What do you get if you take away free speech on Sator Square?_

 _pigeon stew_

 _And the one asking how many activists does it take to screw up a protest has also proved popular._

Sam threw down the newspaper on the breakfast table then threw an accusing look at his daughter who kept her eyes cast downward. "You do realise how much effort it took to convince the Times it was in their best interests not to reveal your identities? And that your Mother and I are going to have to pay for the bloody fountain?"

"We've got loads of money, Dad," she retorted before biting her lip and going quiet again.

"Oh well, in that case why not smash up the opera house while you're at it?" The sarcasm was thicker than one of Sybil's pancakes which incidentally had been left untouched on their plates.

"Why the opera house, dear?" His wife was rather fond of the opera and noted her husband was not.

"Never mind that. Look," he addressed his daughter, "most of the time I don't care what you do as long as you're safe, happy and not hurting anyone else. I don't have many rules…"

"Oh, yeah, right Dad." Victory rolled her eyes.

"No backchat young lady," her Mother admonished.

"Sorry," Victory muttered.

"But one rule I do insist on is the one we all have to follow. Keep within the law." Sam sighed. "That headline might've read 'WATCH COMMANDER ARRESTS OWN DAUGHTER'"

"Oh Dad, it's not like we went out of our way to break the law. It was a freak accident and Amma can't help her size."

"That's true, dear. She's a big gel," Sybil defended.

"Alright, alright. All I'm saying is, if there's a repeat performance on Saturday heads will roll." Sam noticed Victory's derogatory glance heavenward. "Bearing in mind it's the Lord Vetinari who orders that sort of thing, not me."

Victory gulped and nodded. She knew what they had planned for the debate. If her Dad knew, he'd have kittens, or rather the Patrician would make sure she'd have kittens.


	10. Chapter 10

After a couple of days of laying low, Victory and her friends had got together at Ethel's house. Her large family were crammed into an upstairs lodgings on Treacle Mine Road but as Ethel was the only girl she had a room to herself, albeit a small one. Seven brothers made enough racket to wake the dead* but at least it meant there was no chance they'd be overheard. In fact, the Washcart Boys weren't at all interested in what Victory's Girls were up to; if it didn't involve foot the ball then it was entirely meaningless.

 _*(or the undead. Their downstairs neighbour, Reg Shoe, was forever banging on his ceiling with a broom)_

Amma had inexplicably managed to get into the room and was wedged into a corner. Ethel had reassured her the multiple scrapes on the walls could be blamed on her siblings. The rest of them were perched on the bed or sat on cushions on the floor and were busily writing on card after card and popping them into a box. The box was identical to the box that held the subjects for tomorrow's debate, as were the cards. The only difference was what was written on them.

"Ok what about this one?" Maisie read back her card, "Lord Vetinari should stand down."

"Donchoo mean _sit_ down?" Amma offered.

Maisie giggled, "No, I mean stand down as Patrician!"

Ethel, Victory and Gertie all held up identical cards. "Great minds," Victory said with a grin. "We can't be doubling up, can we sort through these again?"

Between them they rejected, among others, 'Rock cakes shood b mayd of real rocks', 'Celery Greenfood is a little bitch' and 'Captain Carrot is a total hottie'. This alone took quite some debate to agree upon but finally there was a stack of statements to debate that reflected the flavour of their agenda. And tomorrow it was going to be exchanged for the one Vetinari had put together.

All they required was a little distraction and Victory had one. She just had to smuggle him out without her Mother noticing.

)))

Errol was an unusual looking creature in that he was a dragon, but unlike his majestic looking ancestors appeared to be all runt. His earnest expression, atop which were a pair of enormous eyebrows, dripping over-sized snout and overall smell made him a beast that only a mother could love and Victory's mother loved him to the edge of the disc and beyond. Victory sometimes wondered if her mother loved him a little more than her, but regardless Errol was always very happy to see his Victory. He snuffled, hopped and flapped his tiny wings and sparks popped in the air out of his wet nose.

With the lure of a tin of boot polish she managed to get the little dragon into a shoulder bag and before her parents were even up and awake they were gone, leaving behind just a puff of smoke in the dawn light.


End file.
